We All Face Death

I have often thought about what the end of my life will be like. Especially since I began the 7th decade of life 2 years ago. It's such a blessing to be living in this loving, multi-generational home. Collaborating on meals, like Thanksgiving Dinner we put together today. 

But in the wee hours of the morning when I have to get up to pee, my mind's eye always sees my mother, living alone in the apartment over our garage. Did she think about what the end of her life would look like? 

She dreaded the thought of getting Alzheimer's. As a nurse's aid for many years, she had seen her share. She always had a crossword puzzle going and loved her word search magazines. "Have to keep my brain exercised," she would say. She ended up in a locked Alzheimer's unit for 3 years until she died of pneumonia at age 92.

It's funny. I dread the thought of getting Alzheimer's too. I saw it up close and personal walking with my mom through that devastating illness. I don't do crossword puzzles or word searches. No. I try to learn Spanish with the DuoLingo App. It is a well-known fact that learning new things is good for our brains as we age. By the time I had managed to rack up 1,000 days without losing my streak, I still wasn't able to speak Spanish. (I gave it up.)

Now I'm facing the likelihood that Alzheimer's will probably not be my experience. Oddly, it's comforting to imagine being spared that fate. It's inevitable we all will face death. The challenge is to face it with courage and grace. 

Not Again!

In August of 2024, I noticed a quarter size dark spot on my right breast at the site of my 2009 lumpectomy. By the 27th of August, I was getting my breast squeezed, and slathered with ultrasound gel.

The radiologist said, "I can see something going on in the skin that's a little concerning, so let's have you back in 3 months and see if there's any change." 

So last Thursday, November 14th, I found myself back in the ultrasound room at the Elliot Breast Health Center. This time the radiologist said, "It hasn't changed." And I said, "That's good news then." She said, "Well, I wanted to see it smaller. I'm referring you to one of our surgeons." 

A week later, Dr. Shikhman entered the exam room and with a pout on her face, said, "Oh my darling, this is not good. Let me see this." Without any hesitation, she knew from looking at it that this was a radiation-induced cancer. "It's not good. Treatment options are limited. We'll send you to Boston. They see these things all the time." She numbed the area and took a sample for biopsy analysis to know exactly what kind of cancer it was.

Not what I wanted to hear. A little stunned, I drove home wondering what in the world I'm facing now. My first words to Caroline were, "Well, we're in for another ride on the cancer roller coaster." We decided to wait for biopsy results before telling the kids.

Yesterday, I got a call. The nurse apologized they don't have biopsy results to share with me because Dr. Shikhman decided to send the sample to the Cleveland Clinic to get a second opinion. The diagnosis is that serious. She and the lab think I have angiosarcoma. Here is a quote from the Cleveland Clinic website: "Angiosarcomas are rare malignant soft tissue sarcomas, which are rare tumors in and of themselves. Each year, approximately 1 person in 1 million people in the U.S. is diagnosed with angiosarcoma."

Somehow I'm left thinking that will not be the diagnosis. It's too rare. The chances are so low, right? Well, I have to wait until next week. All in good time. All will become clear. I will know what my future holds in more detail. Right now, I know doctors and hospitals are in my future. One day at a time. That's the best way to live through something like this.